Is J. J. Abrams’s reboot Star Trek (2009) a Star Trek film? To ask this is, in part, to ask what category of film Star Trek belongs to. Questions about categories or kinds are as old as philosophy itself. What kinds of things are there? How do these kinds of things relate to one another? What determines what things belong to these categories? These are all questions asked in the branch of Western philosophy known as metaphysics.1 Whether Star Trek is a Star Trek film—whether it belongs to that series or category—is not simply a question one can ask about the film, or so I shall argue: it is a question that the film itself asks. To this extent, the film appears to engage in metaphysics.
However, as I shall also argue, the film seems to suggest that judgments as to whether something belongs to a series are not wholly descriptive; rather, they are in large part evaluative. Further, making these evaluative judgments might lead one to reevaluate one’s conception of the “essence” of that series. Thus, in the end I shall maintain that, according to Star Trek, determining whether something belongs to a series such as Star Trek—and so what the nature of that series is—is primarily an aesthetic matter rather than a metaphysical one.
Of course, there is a certain reflexivity involved when a film that is ostensibly a sequel to other films and that ostensibly belongs to a series based in turn on a television series tackles such issues, since in doing so it is reflecting upon itself, on its own status and its relationship to other works. Stephen Mulhall maintains that the various contributions to the Alien series (1979–) manifest “a reflective engagement with their own status as sequels, and hence with questions of inheritance and originality” and that in doing so they reflect “upon the conditions of [that series’] possibility.”2 The same, as I shall try to show, can be said of Star Trek.
Questions about what it takes to belong to a series can seem abstract and of purely intellectual interest. However, as Kendall Walton stresses, “aesthetic judgement rests on [judgments about a work’s category] in an absolutely fundamental way,” since “what aesthetic properties a thing seems to have may depend on what categories it is perceived in.”3 More generally, judgments about what category a work belongs to necessarily inform our appreciation, understanding, and evaluation of artworks since the aesthetic, expressive, and representational properties of a work are determined in part by the categories it belongs to, that is, what form of art it is, which historical or stylistic genre it belongs to, which artist or movement it is a product of, and so on. For example, the same array of paint on canvas might be dynamic for a Mondrian but lifeless for a Kandinsky, while what it takes for a work to be bleak differs between film noir and romantic comedies, and so on. Hence, in raising questions about the category to which it belongs, Star Trek is raising questions about how it should be appreciated, evaluated, and interpreted.
Gene Roddenberry’s original Star Trek (1966) television series ran for three seasons; it spawned five spinoff television series and (prior to Abrams’s Star Trek) ten movies, as well as numerous books, comics, and video games. It is perhaps not a great surprise, then, that at some point a putative member of this franchise started to raise questions about the status of this series and the member’s place in it. Moreover, Abrams is himself responsible for a number of television series, including Alias (2001–2006) and Lost (2004–2010), as well as another film that belongs to a series based in turn on a television series, Mission: Impossible III (2006). It is no less surprising, then, that a work by Abrams should raise questions concerning what it takes to belong to a series and so about what kind of film Star Trek is.4
One might think that Abrams’s movie is evidently a Star Trek film, since it appropriates the original television series’s title, includes many characters, locations, artifacts, and events whose names are the same as those in the original and subsequent series, exploits the same musical theme, exhibits some narrative continuities with other accepted members of the series, and involves one of the series’s original actors (Leonard Nimoy). Implicit in this assumption is the thought that the above are among the criteria that determine whether a work counts as belonging to the Star Trek series. However, while these criteria might be necessary for a Star Trek film, Abrams’s Star Trek certainly challenges, self-consciously, the idea that they are sufficient.
The first indication of this, before it has even begun, is that the film is simply titled Star Trek (as opposed to, say, Star Trek XI). This immediately suggests that the film is not taking for granted that it belongs to a series and also introduces the thought that previous Star Trek films might not be properly called such. Another early indication of the film’s concerns is that it opens neither with the well-known theme from the original series nor with the famous voiceover that begins “Space: the final frontier . . .” These decisions seem to send out the message that there is, or should be, no presumption that the film belongs to the series of the same name.
These concerns are reinforced in Star Trek’s dramatic opening sequence. As the film begins, a Romulan ship emerges slowly from a “lightning storm.” Soon after, another starship appears that one might easily assume to be the U.S.S. Enterprise, given its distinctive shape, multinational crew, and blinking lights; it is, however, the U.S.S. Kelvin, as we learn later. The name of this ship recalls the Kelvin temperature scale, which begins at absolute zero, an association that can be taken in two ways: it might be understood to raise again the idea that this film’s place in a series, its belonging to the category of Star Trek films, is not being assumed; or it might be understood as an assertion that this film is in some way returning to the absolute beginning, that is, to the original Star Trek series. I shall return to these themes repeatedly in what follows.
The captain of the Kelvin, Rodau, boards the Romulan vessel to negotiate with its captain, Nero. Nero asks Rodau if he knows Spock, to which Rodau replies, “I am unfamiliar with Ambassador Spock.” So it appears that, in the universe of Abrams’s Star Trek, familiarity with Spock, a character so familiar from the Star Trek series and its universe, is not taken for granted.
In Rodau’s absence an officer named Kirk assumes the role of captain. At this point one might be tempted to think that this is James T. Kirk, captain of the Enterprise, one of the central characters in the original television series. However, it is not long before we learn that the acting captain is George Kirk. This trick seems designed precisely to unsettle our assumptions that the world of the film we are watching is the same world familiar to us from the original Star Trek series and so in turn to start to unsettle our assumption that we are watching a Star Trek film.
Abrams’s Star Trek has barely started and already it is questioning and leading its viewers to question its relation to the Star Trek series, its status as a Star Trek film: several established conventions, such as the use of numerals, voiceover, and music, have been breached; twice over the expectation that we are witnessing people and vehicles from the Star Trek universe has been thwarted; and characters in the film appear not to be familiar with central figures from the original series. In these ways we are surely being encouraged to ask, Is Abrams’s Star Trek a Star Trek film?
George sets the Kelvin on course to collide with the Romulan ship but its “autopilot” is destroyed, and so George chooses to sacrifice himself by manually directing the ship. There are two things to note here. First, though it is not apparent until later, the result of the sacrifice George makes at the start of the movie—a sacrifice necessitated by Nero’s decisions to follow Spock into the wormhole and to attack the first Federation vessel he sees when emerging from it—is that everything that follows takes place in an alternative reality to that in which the original Star Trek series—and the movies, television shows, books, and comics that followed it—takes place. Second, in bringing this about George does not, because he cannot, rely on any predetermined procedures or any algorithmic principles of the sort that might be mechanically applied.
These two points are reinforced later in the following exchange:
SPOCK: We must gather with the rest of Starfleet to balance the terms of the next engagement.
KIRK: There won’t be a next engagement—by the time we’ve gathered, it’ll be too late. But you say he’s from the future and knows what’s going to happen—then the logical thing is to be unpredictable.
SPOCK: You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold; on the contrary, Nero’s very presence has altered the flow of history . . . thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party.
UHURA: An alternate reality.
SPOCK: Precisely. Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed.
First, Uhura’s stating of the obvious reminds us that the events of Abrams’s Star Trek belong to a different chain, or series, than any that are familiar from other putative members of the Star Trek franchise. This film is, or aspires to be, “new,” to break radically from its “history.” Second, the events of Star Trek and the lives they involve are “unpredictable;” they cannot be “anticipated” and are not as they were “destined” to be, according to the original continuum or series.
Evidently these two points are linked. In not relying on established principles or in deviating from the norm, a new universe is created through the destruction of the old. And given that the universe is new, established principles or norms do not apply.
There are two ways to interpret the decision to relocate the film at its outset to an “alternate reality.” On the one hand, the opening scenes appear to declare that the film to follow is in no way a straightforward continuation of the Star Trek franchise, perhaps that it does not belong to that series at all. At the very least, it invites us to think about whether it counts as a Star Trek film. On the other hand, recall the words of George, who is in large part responsible for creating the alternate reality, to his wife, who is escaping the ship while in labor: “I’m not going to be there. This is the only way you’ll survive.” Directing the Kelvin in an unforeseen way and breaking with history allow George to save his wife, and so their son, James T. Kirk, who is born at the moment of sacrifice. This suggests that to cast off the series with which we are familiar, and so to create “lives” not determined by what has been taken to be the governing principles of that series, is precisely the way to preserve the Star Trek series. In this respect, Star Trek presents itself as a return to and redirection of the Star Trek universe and series.
Given George’s sacrifice, James Kirk loses a parent, and so his life unfolds without the formative influence and guidance of his father.5 In this respect Kirk’s life seems to embody the situation of Star Trek itself—both to stand in an uncertain relationship to predecessors of the same name and to unfold in a way that is not predetermined by established precedent.
In view of this, it is interesting to note that, while Zachary Quinto and Karl Urban seem to attempt to mimic Nimoy’s Spock and DeForest Kelley’s Leonard McCoy, respectively, Chris Pine, who plays the adult Kirk, does not appear to be trying at all to impersonate William Shatner. Though Pine bears some physical resemblance to the young Shatner, he studiously avoids Shatner’s characteristic (indeed, infamous) halting speech pattern.6 Pine’s acting style encourages us to question the assumption that Pine is inheriting Shatner’s character, that is, the Kirk from the original Star Trek universe, and reinforces the thought that, whatever the status of Pine’s Kirk, he will not be played according to predetermined conventions.7
According to Nero, in the original Star Trek universe (Shatner’s) Kirk is “considered to be a great man.” Nero’s choice of words keeps the attribution of greatness at a distance, as if to suggest that this attribution might not be well founded. In any case, Nero notes, “That was another life, a life I will deprive you of just like I did your father.” It is difficult to make sense of these remarks. On the one hand, Nero seems to be talking literally about depriving Kirk of life in the Star Trek universe by killing him (as he killed his father). On the other hand, Nero seems to be talking figuratively of depriving Kirk of the life in which he is considered to be a great man (on its most natural reading, the indefinite description “a life” inherits its reference anaphorically from the preceding definite description, “the life”). It is not clear how to reconcile the two readings—if Nero were to kill Kirk, he would not deprive him of the life in which he is considered to be a great man, since by killing Kirk’s father, he has already deprived Kirk of that life. Still, the important point for present purposes is that, prior to Nero’s intervention, Kirk, and by implication Star Trek, possesses a (questionable) reputation for greatness, a reputation that is linked to a certain heritage and that is under threat, in part because that link is under threat.
In the viewer’s first real encounter with Kirk, he is as an adolescent recklessly driving a car into a chasm while listening to the Beastie Boys. That the destroyed car is from the period in which the Star Trek television series was produced reinforces the suggestion that Abrams’s Star Trek has wilfully broken with the history to which one might have assumed it belonged. That said, the choice of a song, titled “Sabotage,” from the mid-1990s as the accompaniment to Kirk’s act of destruction might suggest an implicit criticism of later ostensible members of the Star Trek series as responsible for disrupting, and ultimately wrecking, the series that they claim to inherit.8 What is clear is that this scene serves to establish Kirk as a rebel.
Kirk’s rebelliousness points in two directions. First, the presumption appears to be that Kirk’s subversive character is a product of the fact that he lacked paternal guidance, that his life is not influenced by his predecessor and namesake. Second, given Kirk’s rebelliousness, the events of his life (hence, of the film) cannot be anticipated in advance and will not unfold according to convention (I already noted above the adult Kirk’s urge to be “unpredictable”). This reinforces the thought that Kirk embodies the film’s status.
The picture Star Trek presents of the relationship of Kirk to his past is, however, not a straightforward one; specifically, his break with the past might not be as total as it might first appear. After all, his rebellious character is presented as resulting from the prior events involving his father and Nero. Moreover, Kirk is his father’s son and it is inevitable that he would receive some input from his heritage, if only at the biological level. The idea of an individual—or, for that matter, that of an artwork—whose character and actions—or expressive, representational, and aesthetic properties—are in no way influenced by external factors, including historical factors, is, of course, a myth, albeit a romantic one.
In view of this, consider Christopher Pike’s seemingly irrational faith in Kirk’s aptitude for Starfleet. On the basis of what appears to be no evidence whatsoever, Pike insists that Kirk is his “father’s son.” It might appear that Pike is taking for granted precisely what is in question, namely, that the Kirk of Abrams’s Star Trek is the Kirk of Star Trek (and so, in effect, that Abrams’s Star Trek is a Star Trek film). However, it should not be overlooked that Pike also dares Kirk to “do better.” This hints at a theme not yet discussed. Pike’s remark suggests that, to the extent that Kirk has inherited his past, Kirk should draw upon that heritage and its resources in a “better” fashion than has been done to date. So Kirk must not allow all or undesirable aspects of his inheritance to determine and dominate his character and life but must be selective and draw upon only those aspects that are desirable in a superior fashion. This points to a different way in which Kirk, and by implication Star Trek, might be “unpredictable”—not (per impossibile) through being in no way influenced by what has gone before, but through exploiting what has gone before in an original and innovative way.
In light of this, consider the following case in Star Trek of the past appearing to repeat itself. At the start of the film, George Kirk is made captain of the Kelvin when his predecessor leaves to negotiate unsuccessfully with Nero. Later, Pike leaves the Enterprise to negotiate with Nero. The immediate result is that Spock is made captain of the Enterprise. Nonetheless, with the aid of Spock himself, though Nimoy’s Spock from the original Star Trek universe (and series), Kirk becomes captain and succeeds in saving Pike and defeating Nero. The message here seems to be that there is a standing threat of merely reproducing the past, following the precedent set by predecessors, with disastrous consequences (indeed, disastrous consequences for the entire Star Trek universe). However, the message continues, this is a threat that can be avoided, not by entirely disregarding the past—say, by not listening to the original Spock—but by learning from it in a selective and novel fashion.
Like Kirk, Spock embodies and dramatizes the concerns of Abrams’s Star Trek. Before turning to consider the significance of the events involving Spock, it is worth noting that the actor who portrays him, Quinto, was previously best known for playing a character in another well-known television series, namely the serial killer Sylar in Heroes. This casting decision is extremely suggestive. Sylar is immortal; he manages to return to life on several occasions after what appears to be his death. Moreover, Sylar is a parasite; he owes almost all his powers to the victims he kills in order to access their brains. One might be tempted to think that we are being invited to see a connection between Sylar and Star Trek—a series that seems to be incapable of dying and whose putative members are parasitic upon the abilities of others and so are, to that extent, inauthentic.
This is, admittedly, speculative. Another, more evident, way in which Quinto’s previous role as Sylar has resonance with respect to his role in Star Trek is that, like Kirk and (as I shall discuss shortly) Spock, Sylar’s lineage is a complex matter. Sylar grew up in the absence of his father and later is led on two occasions to believe falsely that a certain individual is his biological father, respectively, Arthur Petrelli and Martin Gray. Eventually Sylar meets his real father—from whom, it appears, Sylar inherited his ability to acquire others’ powers and who, it turns out, killed his biological mother—only to leave his father to die from cancer. Similarly, Sylar is led on two occasions to believe falsely that a certain individual is his biological mother, respectively, Virginia Gray—whom Sylar kills—and Angela Petrelli. The identity of his real mother has yet to be revealed. I have abstracted from the labyrinthine details of Sylar’s efforts to learn the facts about his parentage. The important point for present purposes is that the near-bewildering array of issues concerning Sylar’s lineage and the resultant uncertainty about his relationship to his apparent predecessors surely informed, or at least casts an interesting light on, the decision to cast Quinto as Spock.
As we did with Kirk, we first meet Spock as a child and immediately discover that he faces difficulties as a result of his relationship to his predecessors. Spock is deemed to be “disadvantaged” by his parentage, specifically by the fact that his father, Sarek, married a human, Amanda Grayson. As a result, Sarek is deemed a “traitor” and the young Spock is bullied for being “neither human nor Vulcan”; in his own words, he has “no place in this universe.”
There are two strands to tease out here. First, due to Spock’s parentage, as Sarek tells him, “You will always be a child of two worlds.” Setting the literal reading aside, in one sense this seems a nod to the fact that the character of Spock is to be found both in the original Star Trek universe and in the alternate reality of Abrams’s Star Trek. This in turn puts the relation of Quinto’s Spock to Nimoy’s original Spock in question, just as the relation of Abrams’s Star Trek is to the original show and the subsequent works bearing its name.
Second, as with Kirk, Spock’s parentage causes problems. The charge seems to be not that Spock is in no way influenced or guided by his past but that (at least according to other Vulcans) the guidance is of the wrong sort. More specifically, Vulcans are not supposed to feel emotion; rather, they are to be entirely “logical” in their decision making. Through years of training from birth, Vulcans are required to develop the mental discipline to repress their very real strong emotions so that they might guide their thought and behavior by “rational” considerations alone. The perceived danger, then, is that Spock’s decisions and actions might be governed not purely by impersonal algorithms of the sort, say, that an autopilot could mechanically execute but instead by a certain and distinctively personal sensibility, just as Abrams’s Star Trek purports not simply to be mechanically following out the paths laid out by the established conventions of Star Trek (which is in part the reason why its status as a Star Trek film is under consideration). It is no surprise, then, that, like Kirk, Spock is deemed (by a minister) to be a “rebel.”
The parallels between Kirk and Spock go further. Just as Pike dares Kirk to do better, Sarek insists, “Spock, you are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is: Which path will you choose?” Like Pike, Sarek seems remarkably confident that it is within Spock’s power to direct his own life and so, rather than allow his heritage to rule him, to make it his own by drawing upon it in an effective and novel manner (in a similar way to that in which Spock later turns the Romulans’ and Vulcans’ “common ancestry” to his advantage in accessing the Romulan computer systems).
This leads to the following point. One respect in which the universe of Abrams’s Star Trek differs from the familiar Star Trek universe is that in the former Spock’s home planet, Vulcan, is destroyed by a black hole that Nero places at the center of the planet. In a dramatic rescue, Spock manages to save (most of) the Vulcan High Council, which, we are told, is “tasked with protecting” Vulcan “cultural history.” On the one hand, this moment represents another instance in which a link between a character and a certain lineage (or “history”) governed by institutions and conventions (or “culture”) is threatened and to some extent broken. As Spock memorably puts it, “I am now a member of an endangered species.” So, too, the suggestion seems to be, Star Trek is a species in danger of extinction, the stream of films and other formats bearing its name notwithstanding.
On the other hand, thanks to Spock’s efforts, “The essence of our culture has been saved in the elders who now reside upon the ship.” Spock’s lineage and the institutions and conventions to which it is subject are preserved or, more precisely, their essence has been, those essential features of the “cultural history” or, so it is implied, of the accidental features it accrued over time, stripped. This, of course, holds out hope for the continuation of that particular series, though perhaps in a manner more faithful to it than its more recent instances. It is clear, I think, that in a similar fashion Abrams’s Star Trek takes itself to offer hope for the continuation of the Star Trek series by returning to its roots and distilling its essentials. I shall return to this below, but it is a sign of the film’s confidence in this possibility that Spock says to his fellow crew members, “I need everyone to continue performing admirably.”
Kirk and Spock first meet when Kirk participates in the Kobayashi Maru test—first presented in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982)—programmed by Spock. Rather than accept that the test presents a “no-win situation,” Kirk completes it successfully, though only, as Spock complains, by “changing the conditions of the test” and the “rules” or “principles” behind it.
First, note that Kirk is participating in a “simulation,” a simulation that is supposed to conclude in only one way, failure. Given the established concerns of Star Trek, outlined above, one can take this as acknowledging the possibility that the film will merely simulate a Star Trek film, rather than constitute an authentic or genuine member of that kind; indeed, the suggestion might seem to be that the realization of this possibility is inevitable. Moreover, viewers are (at least intended to be) unaware initially that the Klingon attack, with its familiar setup and appearance, is a simulation. As a result, viewers are duped into taking the scenario at face value, as genuine. This ploy seems intended in the first instance to acknowledge the temptation to conform to viewers’ expectations and to create a film following established conventions before proceeding to thwart those expectations and encourage viewers not to accept uncritically the authenticity of what they experience. (Compare the first appearances of the Kelvin and George Kirk, discussed above.)
In turn, an implication of the scene seems to be that one can avoid the fate of merely imitating a Star Trek film only by refusing to play by the rules, that is, by not following established convention. And, as it happens, success through cheating is common in Abrams’s Star Trek.9 For example, McCoy manages to get Kirk onto the Enterprise by breaking the rules, specifically, by injecting him with a vaccine that leads Kirk to simulate(!) the symptoms of an illness, while Uhura boards the Enterprise only by exploiting her relationship with Spock. Likewise, Spock provides Scotty with the equation for transporting during warp, which in the original universe Scotty “discovered”—and, as Kirk reminds the original Spock, “Coming back in time, changing history . . . that’s cheating.”10 Of course, in each case, cheating leads to positive outcomes. Perhaps the message here, to echo earlier thoughts, is that the principles of the Star Trek universe are not mechanical algorithms to be mechanically executed but, at most, rules of thumb to be followed, adapted, or ignored as the situation demands.
As just noted, Kirk meets the Spock from the original Star Trek universe; in fact, he meets Nimoy’s Spock from the original Star Trek television series. His doing so is an incredible coincidence, one that is so utterly unbelievable and so very convenient for the film’s storyline that the only charitable interpretation that prevents the meeting from being a serious narrative failing is that it is somehow destined or predetermined. I am not suggesting that the film sustains this interpretation but it is at least consistent with its thematic preoccupations.
Setting this aside, Nimoy’s Spock turns out to have a pivotal role in Star Trek: he is (at least perceived to be) responsible for the destruction that led to the creation of the alternate reality in which the bulk of the film unfolds, and he is largely responsible for the film’s happy ending. I shall take each in turn.
When Spock’s ship first appears, Nero says, “Welcome back.” Nero has waited, we are told, “for the one who allowed our home to be destroyed.” (Spock failed to prevent Romulus from being destroyed by a supernova.) It is hard not to read this as an implicit criticism—one that we have encountered before, although one here kept safely at arm’s length by the fact that the words are spoken by the film’s maniacal villain—according to which the participants in the various works bearing the name of “Star Trek” that followed the original series, including its original cast members, played some part in the destruction of the “home,” that is, the Star Trek universe or parts of it. (Compare Nero’s circumspect attribution of greatness to Shatner’s Kirk, discussed earlier.)
That said, it is Spock who saves the day by rescuing Kirk on Delta Vega, informing Scotty of the formula for midwarp transportation, and, finally, by telling Kirk how to have Spock (i.e., himself) removed from command. So it is thanks in large part to Nimoy’s Spock that the crew at the close of Star Trek is the same the crew in the same roles as in the original—I shall return to this shortly—and that this crew is successful in saving Earth from the Romulan attack. In this respect, the past has a positive, if not exclusive, influence on the present.
The original Spock on Delta Vega initially tells Kirk that Spock’s counterpart in the alternate reality must not be made aware of his existence. It turns out, however, that the “one rule you cannot break” is broken. When Nimoy’s Spock meets Quinto’s Spock, the former’s closing words are striking: “My customary farewell would seem oddly self-serving.” That is, Spock alludes to but does not utter the famous, and now hackneyed, words “Live long and prosper.” On the one hand, this might seem to point to the idea that whether the Star Trek series and its inhabitants have longevity and, more pertinently, whether it will prosper through the contribution of Star Trek has yet to be determined (“I shall simply say, ‘Good luck’ ”). On the other hand, picking up on a suggestion broached earlier, Spock’s words betray a sense of confidence and the tone suggests that long life and prosperity are a given. I shall return to this below.
In light of the above, what can we conclude about what it takes to be a Star Trek film? What are the criteria for belonging to the Star Trek series? Part of the answer that Abrams’s Star Trek appears to give to the questions it raises is that there are no purely formal or descriptive criteria that one could spell out such that, if something meets those criteria, it counts as belonging to the Star Trek series. So, for example, to be a bona fide, authentic, genuine, Star Trek film it is not sufficient that it include characters called “Spock” or worlds called “Vulcan,” has the words “Star Trek” in its title, includes an actor whose performance mimics that of DeForest Kelley’s McCoy, begins with certain theme music, exhibits a certain specifiable narrative structure, and so on. Associated with this is the thought that one could not identify any rules or principles in advance such that by following or abiding by them one is guaranteed to produce a Star Trek film. Indeed, Abrams’s Star Trek seems to suggest, a film might qualify as a Star Trek film even though it flouts, bends, and ignores putative rules or criteria.
One might say that, for Star Trek, judgments as to whether something belongs to a series are not or should not be wholly descriptive (or, one is tempted to say, “logical”); rather, they are in large part evaluative. Where there are rules, whether a film is a Star Trek film is not determined by whether those rules are followed but by how well and in what manner they are applied, and where there aren’t any rules, it is determined by how faithful to the spirit—not the letter—of previous films the candidate is.11 So, according to Star Trek’s contribution to the ontology of art, one cannot legislate in advance or judge by the application of some impersonal principles, based perhaps on one’s experiences of past instances of the series, whether a given film belongs to a given series or what it takes to belong to a certain category of film; instead, one must make judgments about how faithful a film is to its heritage, to the style and substance of its predecessors, and to what extent it draws upon that heritage in a sensitive and imaginative (i.e., nonmechanical) way in realizing its (perhaps as yet unrealized) potential. Making these judgments in turn might lead one to reevaluate one’s conception of the “essence” of that series. All of this is, of course, a reminder that what category or series a work of art belongs to is primarily an aesthetic matter—rather than, say, a metaphysical one.12
In closing, I note that Abrams’s Star Trek does not simply tell us what would count as an answer to the question, Is Abrams’s Star Trek a Star Trek film? It also offers an answer to that question. Abrams’s Star Trek seems confident that it has earned its status as belonging to the Star Trek series (and implicitly suggests this is not true of many other contenders for that status). As already explained, at the close of Abrams’s Star Trek all the original crew members of the Enterprise are in place and in their original positions, presenting the film as a faithful return to its source. The Star Trek universe has, the film seems to declare, restored the Star Trek universe. In light of this, recall Pike’s words to Kirk: “Your father would be proud.” These appear to confirm that Pike’s seemingly irrational faith in Kirk, discussed above, was well placed, since Kirk has lived up to the reputation of his predecessor, which in turn appears to betray an assurance that Star Trek has lived up to its name.
Most glaringly, and perhaps audaciously, the film ends with the famous words with which the episodes of the original series begin, “Space: the final frontier . . . ,” accompanied by the original theme and a montage of planet flypasts like those in the original credits. In doing so, Abrams’s Star Trek asserts that, while it could not be assumed to have done so from the start, it has shown itself to have earned its place in that series (by its own lights). This confidence seems to me dangerously close to overconfidence; there is an air of smugness about the film, a certain arrogance in its apparent conviction that it has decisively answered the question it raised at its start. However, I shall leave it to those more familiar with the original Star Trek series than I am to decide whether Abrams’s confidence, like Pike’s, is well placed.
Thanks to Hayley Whiting for comments on an earlier version of this chapter.
1. Good introductions to metaphysics include Michael Loux, Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction (London: Routledge, 2006); Robin Le Poidevin, Peter Simons, Andrew McGonigal, and Ross Cameron, eds., The Routledge Companion to Metaphysics (London: Routledge, 2009). A very useful and accessible resource is Helen Beebee, Nikk Effingham, and Philip Goff, Metaphysics: The Key Concepts (London: Routledge, 2011).
2. Stephen Mulhall, On Film (London: Routledge, 2008), 7. In chapter 9 Mulhall reflects on another film by Abrams, Mission: Impossible III (2006). Though it is beyond the scope of this paper, it would be interesting to compare Mulhall’s rich discussion of that film—which he presents as “embodying a critical rethinking of its determining conditions” (231)—with the present discussion of Star Trek.
3. Kendall Walton, “Categories of Art,” Philosophical Review 79 (1970): 337, 354.
4. See Mulhall, On Film, chapter 9, for a detailed discussion of the relevance of Abrams’s television work to his film work.
5. Nimoy’s Spock says to Kirk that in the original timeline, George Kirk “lived to see you become captain of the Enterprise” as well as that George Kirk was “your inspiration for joining Starfleet.”
6. Discussing the aspects of the original character he chose to keep, Pine says, “The speech pattern? Absolutely not. In that territory it becomes an impersonation.” See John Jurgensen, “Boldly Revisiting Roles,” Wall Street Journal, January 2, 2009. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123084942774447411.html.
7. That is not to say that Pine’s acting style or his on-screen persona is especially striking.
8. Interestingly, “Sabotage” dates from 1994, the same year in which Star Trek: Generations (dir. David Carson), the first film bearing the name “Star Trek” but not featuring its original cast, was released.
9. As it is throughout the Star Trek universe. Perhaps the most notorious example is the Federation’s Prime Directive, which requires Starfleet not to interfere with alien cultures and their development, a rule that is repeatedly broken.
10. This is also a reference to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986), in which Scotty gives the formula for transparent aluminum to the scientist who presumably invented transparent aluminum in the original timeline. Thanks to the volume editors for bringing this to my attention.
11. Cf. “I wanted to take the spirit of what was created 43 years ago and use it to make it relevant for today, but the key was that we wanted to make it ours and not feel constrained by too many rules that were almost half a century old. . . . The spirit of what came before had to fuel the movie and yet the specifics of the film needed to be ours.” Abrams claims this in John Hiscock, “Star Trek: J. J. Abrams Interview,” Telegraph, April 30, 2009, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/5249746/Star-Trek-JJ-Abrams-interview.html. In quoting these remarks, I do not intend to suggest that Abrams’s stated intentions are a decisive consideration when it comes to interpreting his movie.
12. See Aaron Ridley, “Against Musical Ontology,” Journal of Philosophy 100 (2003): 203–20. Ridley argues that what it takes to be an instance of a given musical work cannot be specified in advance of evaluative judgments one makes about specific instances of it. The above thoughts, which I have argued can be found in Star Trek, present a similar perspective with respect to film. Good introductions to aesthetics and philosophy of art include Noël Carroll, Philosophy of Art: A Contemporary Introduction (London: Routledge, 1999); Stephen Davies, The Philosophy of Art (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006); Gordon Graham, Philosophy of the Arts: An Introduction to Aesthetics (London: Routledge, 2000).